Lockheart
by Kuroi Diamond
Summary: A collection of stories focussing on our favourite foul-mouthed, ill-tempered British ghoul.
1. You're so MEAN!

I didn't really know how to describe Desmond at first. Sadly when I finally did think how to, the most fitting description I could come up with was that he was the kind of man who can use words alone to essentially bend you over a table and sodomize you, repeatedly, until you do what he wants. And a girl like myself, all alone in this world, can really only take so much emotional abuse until she breaks down in tears and whimpers; I'll do anything you want, please for the love of god just stop raping my feelings.

And then he called me pathetic.

Yeah, nice guy that Desmond. Ok, ok, I know that I'm supposed to be the tough-as-nails, badass, yet somehow still saintly Lone Wanderer but as much as I can imagine Three Dog shaking his head in disappointment at my little breakdown, I'm willing to bet that he'd either be crying or trying to commit bloody murder after five minutes in Mr. Lockhart's company too.

In my defence though, I did try to… Um… _defend_ myself, which is a lot harder to do when you're sniffling and trying not to sob as you speak;

"I-I'm p-pathetic?' I warbled "whose t-the one p-picking on a g-girl?" and he sighed.

"Jesus H Christ, kid would you pull yourself the fuck together?" he said in that totally-not-sexy-at-all voice of his. I shook my head.

"_No_. I'm sick of you t-treating me like a p-punching bag when I'm j-just tryin' to h-help!" I sobbed.

"I swear to god, girl if you don't stop that shit right now I _will_ be fucking punching you…" Desmond growled and I shrank back.

"Don't hurt me…" I whined and then cringed inwardly. _Oh god, I really AM pathetic!_

"Oh, for the love of… I wasn't _going _to.' He said and I could hear him becoming increasingly exasperated "What the hell do I have to do to make you stop fucking crying?"

And I sensed an opportunity…

"W-well…' I said, stepping a little closer to him "If my d-dad was trying to m-make me stop crying, he'd… Lemmesitonhisknee." I mumbled the last part so it was barely understandable, but the way Desmond's eyebrows shot up above his glasses indicated he'd heard it.

"Let you… What?" He said trying to sound aloof, but I could hear the note of interest in his damnably hot voice… At least I was fairly certain I could.

"He'd… Let me sit on his knee.' I repeated and Desmond stared at me.

"You want to sit… On my knee?"

"… Kinda."

"I said it before kid; I'm not your fucking daddy." He said and I managed to squeeze out a few more tears.

"F-fine. See if someone else will help you." I said, sniffling.

For a moment I wasn't sure if he was going to scoff at me, hit me or throw me right out of the mansion. I braced myself for any of those possibilities and then he sighed resignedly, sort of slumping down on a nearby chair.

"The goddamn things I do to beat that fucker…' he grumbled. I totally didn't care about Calvert at that moment; I was just thrilled to actually be getting something I wanted out of Desmond. I tried not to leap over too enthusiastically and sat down on his knee.

"Now hug me."

"… What?"

"…P-please?"

"Oh, _alright_."

I hoped he didn't notice the way I eagerly leaned into him as he put his arms around me, because it might give away the fact that the whole thing wasn't as paternal as I'd made it out to be…

"Kid, this doesn't exactly feel paternal to me."

_… Drat._

"What do you mean, Desmond?" I said, trying for innocent and then tensed up as he growled, the feeling of it rumbling from his chest against my back almost distracted me from the fact that he was obviously pissed off… Well, more so than usual.

"Don't you fucking act naive with me, little girl.' He said in my ear and I shivered "What the hell are you playing at?" I noticed then that the hand of the arm he had around my waist was clamped down pretty hard on my wrist.

_Eep._

I had a choice then; to flee and never set foot in Calvert Mansion again or stick around and try to explain myself… _Flee, stick around, flee, stick around, flee… Oh damn it!_

"Look, Des. Can I call you Des?' I asked, turning slightly to face him. His expression read 'a world of no' so I laughed nervously "Ahaha, ok… See, I've pretty much been off without any contact for a while now. I'm kinda lonely, um, in _that_ way' I said, picking my words carefully "And, well, since I'm basically still here on your lap rather than on the floor with my brain scattered everywhere… Is it safe to assume that the feeling is at least slightly mutual?"

There was silence. And what a silence. I was beginning to feel rather awkward because, hello, I was sitting on the knee of a man who despite what I'd just said, I was pretty sure was about to turf me off of him and eviscerate me in a moment.

So it was a complete surprise when the death-grip he had on my wrist relaxed.

"You are fucking insane." Desmond said simply and I glared at him.

"Gee, real smooth seduction there, Casanova." I said and he fucking _laughed_ at me.

"Come off it, princess' He scoffed "Seduce you? I've been around too long to bother with that ridiculous bloody façade. If I wanted you, I'd just fucking take you." I flushed at his words, jumping off him like he'd burnt me (which in one way, he totally just had.)

"You… Are _so_ MEAN!" I yelled at him and he shot me a superior smirk.

"You're goddamn right I am.' He said evenly "And of course, better to be a mean bastard like me than a desperate, sex-starved waster like yourself."

My mouth dropped open wide enough to engulf a bloatfly and Desmond just continued his assault on my self-esteem.

"Yes, wake up kid; you're a moron. Pure and simple. Do you often go around begging complete strangers for a romp in the hay? Quite pathetic, really. And stupid, considering that half the people left in this world would sooner put a bullet between your pretty eyes than touch you…"

_Don't cry again don't cry again don't cry aga- fucking dammit, I'm crying again._

"Stop…" I whispered as tears started rolled down my cheeks.

"Oh, I'm just getting started.' Desmond said "When you try to defend yourself, you do it meekly at best which I guess just fucking proves how mentally challenged you really are. And just look at you; if a goddamn molerat sneezed in your direction you'd probably fall over, you skinny little twit. How on earth did you ever make it out here alive, by the way?" I couldn't help but sink pathetically to the ground under the weight of his words and gaze then.

"If I'm so useless, why'd you ask me to help you…?" I asked miserably and he shrugged.

"Well, there was always the off, and I mean _very_ off chance you would pull through.' He replied as he got to his feet "And even if you didn't, I assumed it would save me traipsing some of this sodding mud hole myself." He took my chin in his hand, lifting my tear-streaked face to his calm, rational one, and then just as I was silently begging him to break my neck and put me out of my misery, he bent at the waist and pressed a fleeting but hot open-mouthed kiss to my lips.

I blinked, stunned, and Desmond shot me a wicked grin as he purred;

"Now, do you still want to fuck or what?"

* * *

**As it turns out, foreplay for Desmond is insulting the motherfucking shit out of you until you're a quivering heap on the floor and that's when he strikes. Yup. :D**

**~KD**


	2. Cruelty

I am completely unsurprised to find out that Desmond Lockheart fucks the same way he talks, _cruelly._

He's completely unapologetic as he slams me against the wall so hard I'll have bruises in the morning and he doesn't give a damn that he's probably drawing blood as he nips at my neck.

I don't think he feels sorry that I don't have any clothes other than the ones that he is currently ripping off me and discarding to the floor. Never mind that I'll never be able to wear them again; Desmond probably hasn't even let that fact cross his mind.

If it's even registered with him that it might hurt when he pushes me roughly up the wall so I'm cradling his hips with my thighs and his hands grab my ass and pull me towards him, I highly doubt he's going to feel guilty about it and Jesus _fuck_ I can see that wicked smirk on his face as he _thrusts _into me.

And there is no denying that he's damn good at what he's doing and there is no ignoring the part of me that maybe sort of loves him for his cruel, unrepentant arrogance especially now as I'm going up in flames because of it.

But there is no way I can ever tell Desmond how I feel. Oh, he probably knows already; god knows he's observant enough to have an inkling at the least, but as long as I don't tell him, we can both pretend it's not there. We can both pretend it's just sex and spare my heart being torn to shreds by that terrible talent he has with words.

Yes… I think that man could make the most hard-bitten raider curl up and cry if he decided they were even worth his time. With Desmond, it's not that he's calling you something horrible; it's that he's calling you something horrible and making you believe it. He's got this knack of picking your insecurities with a single glance and then hitting where it hurts every single goddamn time. It's a gift he uses rather skilfully to get what he wants, I might add; I wouldn't have helped him if he didn't and I most certainly wouldn't be letting him fuck me senseless against a wall for anything less either.

I'm probably going to be regretting this tomorrow, no matter how good it feels when he makes me come once then twice and then its _three_ fucking times and he's still not done yet. I've let him break me down then build me back up with these painful yet totally amazing things he's doing and oh, I'm going to _hate_ myself for it soon.

For a brief moment, so brief I wonder vaguely if it actually happened or if it's just wishful thinking, after he finally comes and we slump against each other, panting and spent, his arms are around me and his lips pressed into the crook of my neck. Not like Desmond Lockheart, but like a lover.

And then it's gone and he's already straightening his hair and putting that back on and buttoning this up again and I'm still sagging against the wall like a goddamn bag of flour, just watching him. His eyes lock on mine for a second and he smiles that superior smile he is oh-so good at.

"Not too shabby, kid." He says in that spine-tingling accented growl of his and when I've analyzed it for any sarcasm and it's come out clean, I feel a thrill at the rare praise.

I can't help but let him get to me. It's not really right that I've gone and let him insult the shit out of me and make me cry then suddenly turn around and fuck me like he owns me, but somehow, I kind of like it that way. God knows there is nobody else in the world I'd let do it.

I know it can never be anything more than his hands on me and the sweat and the bittersweet pleasure he can give and really, that's just fine. Desmond doesn't really do people, I guess. I can't imagine that he ever wanted a wife or a girlfriend or even just a friend-friend before the bombs fell and I certainly can't imagine he'd ever get the urge to obtain one now. It would be just too un-Desmond.

So I love him a little in silence and help him out and relieve his tension as much as I possibly can because hey, we're both getting something out of it. And when Calvert is dead and we part ways, I'm not going to complain or cry or beg him to stay because we both know he won't and wishful thinking isn't getting me anywhere. See, even in some world where we could be together _in that way_, I don't think I'd go for it because despite how very good Desmond is at making me feel worthless, I know I'm not and I know I deserve more than him in the end.

This… What we have in this moment is enough. And it's good. And when it ends and he's gone from my life, I know he'll never miss me.

And you know what, Desmond? I fully intend to return the favour.

* * *

**Because evidently the vaultie can only stand to be with men who leave her in the end. DADDY ISSUES, MUCH? :D**

**~KD**


	3. Existential

**AN: Wherein it ping-pongs back and forth between philosophy and immature bickering.**

* * *

It was hard enough breaking Calvert's data encryptions without being so bloody _aware_ of the little mouse standing behind him, Desmond thought.

Oh, but she was pretty tenacious for a mouse, perhaps more like a rat?

"Still here, are you?" He said, his tone betraying his curiosity. Desmond imagined that she jumped at his words and was probably now biting her fingernails, a rather irritating habit he'd noticed she had in their short time together.

"… What will you do now?" She asked hesitantly and Desmond glanced over his should at her (yes, she was biting her nails. How… The opposite of adorable, whatever that was.)

"Now that we're rid of Calvert, I'll be headed north to pursue my next rival. There are only a few of us left now. The great game goes on.' Desmond replied and noting the look of confusion on her face continued 'Sort of a… What's a word you would understand? Microcosm? Yeah, it's a Microcosm for the old world." She frowned.

"Microcosm? That's the best you could come up with?" She said and Desmond face darkened.

"Look kid, was there something you wanted? I'd like to get back to work." He said, tapping the databank behind him with a hardened fingernail. Her face immediately became shy and unsure.

"You're headed North… To the Commonwealth?' She shuffled slightly "I've never been there before."

"Yeah, well it's not really a place for little girlies who don't understand what Microcosm means." Desmond said absently.

"… Microcosm and Macrocosm; the recognition of the repetition of traits appearing in all things, large and small, throughout the cosmos or a smaller form of something representative of a larger reality." She mumbled and Desmond, momentarily stunned, turned to stare at her.

"… That's right.' He said eventually "You're not half as dumb as you look."

Coming from Desmond Lockheart, this could be considered to be substantial praise but she still made a face.

"I never really did anything significant to justify your conclusion that I'm stupid, you know.' She said quietly "You're just too wrapped up in how smart you and your rivals are to notice anyone else." Desmond frowned at this.

"I don't _need _to notice anyone else. All that matters to me is the game.' He said and she shook her head.

"You think that, Desmond.' She said softly "But you talk of this great game of yours and how there are only a few of the players left. But if you win, when all your rivals are dead, your 'microcosm for the old world' will cease to exist, right? If it's truly all that matters to you and that disappears, what will you do then? Will you be able to move on or will you just end up in an existential crisis?" Her eyes met his and Desmond clenched his fist for a moment, and then relaxed.

"Impressive, kid. Very fucking impressive. You've shown you can argue at the level of somebody still possessing their frontal lobe." He remarked, an unpleasant grin on his worn face. The girl winced at this low blow, unconsciously reaching up a hand to part her fringe and finger the horrific scar beneath it. Thank god for Nadine, she thought, or she wouldn't even have the hair to cover it.

"You didn't answer my question, Desmond.' She said softly "Do you have _anything_ left besides this game?" It seemed she was not to be distracted and Desmond shrugged.

"Despite the brain's words, I am actually capable of forethought, princess.' He said "I have thought about… After. I do intend to _win_, of course. I've always wondered what happened to good old Mother England. Maybe I'll go home and see if I can't use the information I obtain from these bastards to build her back up." Desmond wondered why he was sharing so much with her. Well, it couldn't really hurt to; it wasn't as if they'd be seeing each again…

"I want to go with you.' She said all of a sudden "To the Commonwealth."

… Or perhaps not.

"No.' Desmond growled "Perhaps you didn't understand me when I expressed my immense gratitude at the fact that we're supposed to be _fucking parting ways now._"

"You might need me again." She said and Desmond laughed darkly.

"I've been doing this fine on my own for two hundred years, you realise." He said.

"Yet _I _was the one who killed Calvert.' She said heatedly.

"He was a brain, as if it required much exertion."

"You wouldn't have even known where he was if it weren't for me!"

"And you did a fine job of almost getting me blown to fucking pieces in the process!"

"And you didn't notice the several hundred tonnes of explosives planted around the place? How long were you living there for?!"

The two glared at each other for a while. Desmond found he quite liked the way she looked flushed pink and angry.

"I don't need your help, kid. And you don't need to know anything more about my business than you already do." He said.

"I know you've been fighting a pointless war for over two hundred years." She said quietly and then gasped as Desmond strode forward and pushed her roughly against the wall behind her, his hand at her throat.

"_Don't _you fucking start talking out of your arse about things you know _nothing_ about, princess.' He growled dangerously "I told you, you can't even begin to comprehend any of this, so just do yourself a favour and shut your pretty mouth." Her eyes were full of fear. Fear and _fantasies_, Desmond noted. Fantasies of the oh-so many things he might do to her…

He was tempted, sorely so, to indulge her. Maybe that way she'd learn a thing or two about not pissing off people like him. But he wasn't too sure whether he should tighten his hand around her throat or lean in and taste the sweat that beaded there. Maybe sink his teeth in deep until she clutched at him, begged him to stop, moaned…

Desmond shook his head and stepped away from her, his hand dropping to his side. She was a distracting one, that girl. All the more reason why she should continue on her merry way and leave him in peace. Desmond despised doing stupid or uncalculated things and she was getting uncomfortably close to making him do something that was both.

"Go on, piss off.' He murmured "I believe our business is concluded." Desmond turned to get back to work, praying that the stupid girl would leave. He heard her breath and sigh of what could have been relief or disappointment. Maybe even a mixture of the two.

"You know what? I'll see you around, Desmond.' She said after a while "It's been… A real experience working with you." He scowled at databank in front of him.

"I sincerely fucking hope you won't, kid." He muttered and she gave the ghost of a laugh.

"We'll see." She said, walking to the exit. Desmond waited until he thought she was out of ear-shot and murmured;

"It pains me to say it… But thank you."

And was sorely annoyed when she replied;

"You're welcome."

* * *

**Desmond more or less implies himself that the reason he keeps playing the game is because it's all he has left of the old world. I thought that if he wins, it would be a slightly empty victory despite the gaining of things like the data from Calvert because once the game is done with, he'll have pretty much lost the last thing that really gave him purpose. Sadly, writing about the possibility of Desmond eventually suffering an existential crisis is far more complex than I usually like to be in my writing… And also, rather weird and uncomfortably reminiscent of high school crap.**


	4. Spilt Wine

**A/N: If you don't ask why they're hanging out together drinking wine, you'll be a lot happier. And so will I because it means I won't have to make up a reason. Also the slightly OOC Desmond… Shut up, he's not OOC! He just hasn't gotten laid for 200 years, that's all!**

* * *

_Swirl, sniff, sip… __**Grimace.**_

She couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the taste of the wine. Two hundred years of age coupled with a hefty dose of radiation was, unsurprisingly, a bit too much for even the finest vintage. The 2070 _château de goule_ which might once have been a deep burgundy was now an ugly rust red liquid that left a ton of sediment in her chipped glass and an odd taste in her mouth.

Her eyes stole across the table to watch as Desmond took a sip from his own glass. His face betrayed nothing of his thoughts and she was left guessing whether the wine appealed to him (she couldn't begin to think why it would) or whether it made him lust for more scotch the same way it was making her. It occurred to her that it would have been wiser to open the wine first seeing as now she had nothing to wash her mouth out with.

Desmond's eyes flicked up to meet hers for a moment and as usual, she looked away first. When they drank, he looked at her differently and hell if it didn't make her more nervous than the bored, slightly irritated expression he usually gave her. If given a choice, she would have to pick apathy over über-interest when coming from Desmond Lockheart because apathy didn't make him look like he wanted to _eat_ her.

She wanted to tell him to quit with the soul-devouring look and then bring out the beat-up wine book she'd unearthed. She wanted to ask him why there only seemed to be red wine left in the world and what white wine was like. Or how something made from a grape could ever come to have the taste of tropical fruit, and what _was _tropical fruit anyway? Was that like Mutfruit or Punga fruit? Because she didn't really like those very much…

She wanted to ask him all these things because maybe then he'd be too distracted to say-

"Come here, kid."

_God damn it…_

Desmond always seemed to command rather than ask. And maybe that's why she wordlessly arose from her seat and made her way on unsteady legs to where he sat. Or maybe it was all that scotch from earlier… Maybe it was the wine. She didn't really know.

"What is it?" She asked quietly and Desmond stood up, so his body was almost touching hers. She didn't move as he brought his hand up and his thumb brushed against her stained lips.

"You have wine on your mouth.' He stated "It's annoying."

"Oh… Thanks." She murmured. Desmond continued to touch her face, his hand moving from her mouth to her cheek before he leaned in close and whispered;

"Are you going to remove it or do I have to do it for you?"

Before she could even answer, Desmond had pulled her into a kiss, his tongue removing the last traces of wine from her lips before it slipped into her mouth. She tensed up, her hands clutching at him, as if decided whether to push him away or pull him to her. His hand tangling in her hair and bringing her even closer decided for her and she moaned as his hips pressed to hers.

Whenever Desmond touched her like that, she wondered how she managed to keep breathing. He made her feel like she was going to fucking die if he didn't keep doing what he was doing. Every time he touched her, kissed her or screwed her just because he felt like it, it fucking _killed._ 101 knew she was suffocating because of this man, yet she wouldn't say no… Or maybe couldn't.

Oh, she loved him. She didn't know how or why but she did. It was her fault for following him even though he'd made it pretty clear after Point Lookout that he never wanted to see her again. But 101 always had had a knack for convincing people to see things her way. Desmond had taken longer to sway than anyone else she'd met and she wasn't sure he was one hundred percent convinced of her usefulness half the time, but he still let her tag along if not just to see how long she would survive.

_Probably thinks I'm going to get eaten by a 'Guai at some point…_ She thought bitterly but didn't say anything as Desmond pushed her against the table, his hands divesting her of her jacket.

Why did she love him? Maybe it was the way that every time she lost her footing on the rocky wasteland ground, he'd catch her and then reprimand her for being so clumsy. Maybe it was the way that when a Deathclaw was bearing down on her and all hope seemed lost, he'd take it out with a well-placed bullet between its eyes. Maybe it was the way that when she managed to do something right, he was sincere with his praise… It was hard to earn it; but every time he gave it, she felt as if she couldn't be more elated, couldn't be higher and couldn't for the life of her be happier.

And when he touched her… She'd be so lost in the sensation though she always knew it couldn't last. Desmond, like any other man, had physical needs and she was an outlet for that, she knew it. He did not and never would care for her the same way she cared for him. It hurt to know she was just an outlet, an extra set of weapons and a vague annoyance in his eyes, but maybe that's why she put up with it all; because she wanted to prove to him she was more than that. She knew that trying to gain Desmond Lockheart's acceptance was like chasing the reflection of the sun, but still she tried because that's all she really could do.

Desmond's hands pinned hers against the table and his lips were on hers again. She found that she loved the way his moustache prickled her skin because to her it was so uniquely Desmond. Her legs wrapped around his waist, trying to draw him closer so she could feel him where she needed him the most right then. And the sounds that escaped his mouth made it feel like her chest was caving in; Jesus _Christ_, she wanted him so badly, maybe too much…

It didn't matter that the bottle of wine was knocked from the table. And she couldn't care less about the blood-like pool that spread across the ground and seeped between the floorboards. She only cared that it was easier not to think about never earning his acceptance when he was on top of her like this. So much easier when all she could see were starbursts behind her eyes and red pulses. When all she could feel was his lips on her neck and his cock inside of her. She knew she needed this more than he ever could.

Sometimes she felt afraid that Desmond was becoming her world. Sometimes she feared that a day would come where he could tell her to do anything and she would do it. But now wasn't a time when she could think about that. When Desmond was with her like this, everything else melted away. 101 could close her eyes in that moment and cling to him and think he was the only thing that mattered.

Because when she could pretend that he needed her the same way she needed him, everything else was just so much spilt wine…

* * *

**I dare say these are getting more disjointed and weird as they go along. Oh well. Any Desmond is for me better than no Desmond at all.**


	5. Understanding

**A/N: Obviously, a few of these are centred around things that might have happened had 101 joined Desmond on his venture to the Commonwealth. (And of course, somehow convinced him to let them.)**

* * *

*

The Raider didn't even have time to move before Desmond shot his head off and then continued to pump round after round into his corpse until the gun clicked empty and there was little left of the raider's body but a bloody, pulpy mess.

"I have already seen too many dead girls." Desmond said quietly, his harsh voice softer than I can ever remember hearing it as he wiped blood from his eyeglasses with a handkerchief and then placed it gently over the face of the little girl we'd found the Raider mutilating. She looked cold, probably had been dead for days and I was left bewildered as to why Desmond would care so much. It was sick and sad and heart wrenching, but it was also the Wasteland. I just couldn't understand what had sparked such rage in him.

"Desmond…" I started and he whirled around, his gun pointing at me. The rage still hadn't left his eyes and I shrunk away from him.

"_Not _a fuckin' word, girl.' He snarled at me "Not a _fuckin' _word."

The only other time I could remember being frozen in fear was the time I watched my father die. The look on Desmond's face told me I would share the Raider's fate and then some if I disobeyed. He eventually lowered his gun and we somehow managed to continue on our way as if nothing had happened, but the question hung in the air, forbidden from being asked it just followed me around like a bad smell, scratching and picking inside my skull.

That night we took shelter in one of a few houses that had managed to survive the blasts. Looked like it was some pretty fancy digs before the bombs fell and the plumbing miraculously worked. There was no hot water, but getting to have a bath for once was a godsend… Especially after the day I'd had. Desmond had gone somewhere earlier so I figured I was free to get washed up. I went upstairs and pushed open the bathroom door.

"Didn't you ever learn to knock, kid?" Desmond sighed from the tub. I squeaked and spun around, flushing furiously.

"I'm sorry! I thought you'd gone somewhere! I swear I didn't know you were in here!" I said rapidly, trying not to think too much about being in the same room as a wet, naked Desmond.

"Kid.' He said "Don't worry about it. Come talk to me for a bit."

And I blinked behind my hands that I'd thrown over my eyes. The words 'what have you done with Desmond?' were definitely in my head at that point, but I slowly lowered my hands and edged towards the bathtub.

"It helps if you turn around, moron." Desmond said but with none of his usual venom. I think my hands were shaking a little as I obeyed and turned around, but I kept my eyes off him and sat down with my back to the tub.

"Got a cigarette, kid?" He asked and I might have murmured yes before I took the slightly beaten pack from my pocket. I carried them around to give to people to gain a little trust and get them to talk to me; a lot easier than interrogating people, but I just gave the whole pack to Desmond along with some matches, blushing even deeper when his damp fingers brushed against mine.

"Thanks." He said and I heard him strike the match and the intake of breathe he took to light his cigarette.

He didn't actually say anything for a while and I was tempted to ask what he wanted to talk about, but it just seemed wrong to push him at all. I had a feeling I was going to be listening a lot more than talking anyway.

"You know when I said my story was long and messy?' Desmond finally said and I nodded.

"Like a Deathclaw's tongue.' I murmured and he gave the ghost of a laugh.

"Yeah, that's it. I also said you didn't want to get too personal with it…' He paused for a little bit and sighed "It still isn't your business, but fuck it; if we're going to be travelling together, you have the right to know at least some of it."

I couldn't help but feel a little excited; not only was I curious about Desmond's past but I sensed a pre-war story coming on. Of course my excitement faded almost as soon as he started speaking…

"Before the bombs fell, I worked for a certain organization within the British government. My job meant I got to go to a lot of different countries and meet a lot of different people, usually because I was killing them…'

I gulped nervously, wondering exactly what Desmond's job description had been, but let him continue;

"Of course, this meant I also got to meet a lot of different broads; I'm taking real fucking exotic women here and, well, a man away from home gets in need of company sometimes..." Desmond trailed off and I almost turned around to look at him then caught myself just in time as I remembered he was naked.

"So… You had lots of dates?" I asked and he snorted.

"Jesus, could you be more fucking naive, please?' He said "No kid, I did not have lots of dates; I fucked a lot of women, ok? As if I really had the time to buy every filly who wanted to 'finger my moustache' a fuckin' drink." I could hear the water lapping the sides of the bath as he moved, maybe to get comfortable, but I got the feeling of his eyes on the back of my head.

"Desmond, uh, do your sexual conquests pay a big part in this story? Cos you're making me a little bit uncomfortable." I said and I just _knew_ that he rolled his eyes at me.

"What are you, a goddamn puritan?' He said and then sighed "Not really, but the result of one of them does…" He went quiet and I wondered what he meant by that. When Desmond did start talking again, his voice was bitter, bordering on resentful.

"This one Russian bird… Her name was Olga; she was my informant on a mission. I spent a night with her before I was due to ship back to England for a while. It was two years before I was sent back to Russia and _fuck_, was there a surprise waiting for me there… My new informant told me Olga had died and left her daughter alone; this tiny little two year old girl with nowhere to go who had my fucking eyes." He said and I clicked immediately.

"You… You were a father…" I whispered, not quite believing it. I mean, it was _Desmond._

"Yeah.' He growled irritably "If that's what you can call a man who accidently knocked up a woman when he was bored, then yes, I was a fucking father." I heard him take a hard, angry draw on his cigarette, breathing out the smoke with a hiss. I could still barely believe what I was hearing.

"What did you do?" I asked softly and Desmond sighed.

"What was fucking expected of me by society in those days, idiot; I filled in the right paperwork and brought the runt back to England with me." Desmond said bitterly.

"What was her name?" I asked and he stayed very, very quiet until at length he finally answered me.

"Tatianna." He said it softly and though I'd never heard the name before, I was certain his pronunciation was flawless. Every time Desmond had mentioned the child, he'd sounded aloof and irritated… Until he said her name.

"You loved her?" My voice was barely a whisper.

"_No_. I did not fucking _love _her. I fucking hated her; I never wanted a child.' Desmond snapped "She was a goddamn stranger in my house that I had to take care of because it was _the right thing to do_ who fucking _cried_ ever goddamn night because her mother was dead."

His words were harsh, but I knew something was missing. If Desmond hated her the way he said he did, then why had the little girl today provoked such a reaction in him? I was suddenly determined to get some answers out of him.

"Desmond… What happened to her?' I asked and he didn't reply. I turned around, no longer caring about looking at him "What happened to Tatianna?"

He stared back at me and I looked into his eyes. The fury in those grey depths couldn't be hidden behind the calm, apathetic mask he wore and when he spoke again, his voice was full of rage.

"Aleksandr Kavelin. I'm saving him for last. He is far more dangerous than Calvert, but I won't rest until he's fucking dead. He killed her, hoping to get to me, the pathetic bastard. Not only that, but he did god knows what to her for three days. Three fucking _days_. She was a child who had _nothing_ to do with it and I swear that when I find him, he's going to get seventy-two hours of pain so he can find out what it feels like."

His words hit me like a brick wall and his eyes held pure hatred for the man he spoke of. I think I might have whimpered at the intensity of his gaze. When Desmond looked away, he angrily puffed on his cigarette and ran a hand through his wet hair.

"I was never that girl's father, but no child deserves what happened to her. Kavelin is the sickest bastard I have ever met and it's going to be a real honour to end him. He's not even fucking human in my eyes, kid. Not even fucking human.' His voice was a low growl, but every word was clear "I'm going to make sure he never bothers anyone ever again."

I felt like crying, but I knew Desmond would just hate me if I pitied him at all. I thought hard about what I should say because he was looking at me like he expected me to say something. I almost asked him about Kavelin, but my mouth beat my brain to the punch.

"Do you regret it? Tatianna, I mean. Are you sorry that she was born?"

I kind of expected him to hit me; it seemed like I was asking too much, but instead Desmond stayed silent, his face thoughtful.

"No. I don't. She was… A glimpse of a different life, maybe. It could have been interesting I suppose; having a family.' He said and shrugged "But hell, some things just aren't meant to be." I nodded.

"Yeah."

I gave him a weak smile and we lapsed into a heavy silence for a while, but then I met his eyes again. I can't say what I saw there but I vaguely recall meeting him halfway when his mouth fixed upon mine. Only our lips were connected, I was on my knees on the cold, hard tiles and he was leaning across the edge of the bath. I think maybe touching in just that one place and nowhere else intensified the sensation.

Strange how knowing about Desmond's past opened this door. Strange that his little piece of honesty was all it took for me to realise I didn't want to leave this man's side. I'm not sure, but I think maybe he needed to tell somebody his story. I think maybe that's all anybody needs in this world where a dead person is just another stain on the ground. In this world where every day, you wonder if what you do means anything and will it change the way things are; will you be remembered or will it be like you never existed? Maybe we're all so desperate to be heard that if even a single person listens, we can tell ourselves that we matter.

I understand a little bit more about Desmond now and I think he understands that I need to stay by his side. And as I climbed into that bathtub with him, I smiled because you could search high and low in the Wasteland and come up with a handful of people to call friends and maybe a few more to call lovers, but never anybody who actually gets you.

I understand Desmond and he understands me. And for us, that means more than all the friendship and love in the world.

* * *

*

**This was probably the hardest to write so far. I hope that doesn't mean it makes no sense. And I think almost everything I write with Desmond in it ends with him getting laid… Huh…**

**Since most of my reviews are anonymous ones, I'm just going to go ahead and reply to them now. :D**

**Y HALLO THAR**: Hehe, thanks for being my first reviewer. I'm glad you think I capture him well. I disagree that he doesn't go off on tangents, because a good portion of what comes out of that man's mouth are pretty much tangents in themselves. Also, considering its fan fiction, you sort of get that licence to have a character do things they don't in whatever they may be from in way of character development. :D

**MiladyOccult: **Thanks! And I'm really happy you decided to review. Gives me the warm fuzzies. Yes, he is a lovable prick! That's almost the exact way I like to put it myself. And yes, ew. Tobar really does get what he deserves, the unwashed hick! XD

**Moi: **I know, I can't help it! He's just so ridiculously interesting. Sexy voice too. ;D I think the fact that he's so mean appeals because at least he's mean with _style_, right? I get a lot of people being weirded out by the whole ghoul obsession in the first place, but I guess I can see why Desmond might be considered one of the least likable to a lot of people.


	6. Curiosity

**A/N: In which you are treated to a pleasantly OOC Desmond for the purpose of me getting my jollies on and needing and trying to describe a really good orgasm without ever saying the word orgasm, because to be frank, it's rather unattractive.**

* * *

101 knew it got hot in the Wasteland. Hell, she knew all too well; her usually pale vault dweller skin too often bore patches of hectic red sunburn and just her luck that she always burned and never tanned. So yes, she knew how it was…

But that was _no excuse_ for Desmond to wander in when she was trying to clean her rifle, completely shirtless, and drape himself over an old arm chair, muttering an array of curses and a few near incoherent grumblings about how it was never this hot in England even after the bombs.

And poor 101 just couldn't stop staring. At least she managed to stop her mouth hanging open and her tongue lolling out like a damn dog's. She tried to tell herself it was just her medical training making her stare, but she'd be lying if she pretended it wasn't more than that.… Of course, the patchwork of his skin was fascinating; the weave of red muscles, the spider web of veins bright blue with blood that she knew would change to red if exposed to oxygen, and the sections of skin surprisingly untouched by the ravages of the ghoul condition. It all caused her eyes to wander over Desmond's half-naked form, wanting to run her hands over him to see how he felt beneath her fingertips…

"_What?_" Desmond's voice snapped her out of the daydream and unsurprisingly, his tone was rather irritated. 101 blushed in embarrassment at being caught looking.

"Nothing…" She murmured, trying to busy herself once more with her rifle.

"It's hot, kid. I'm not about to fucking cover up for your sake." Desmond said and she felt a small tug at her chest.

"That's not it, Desmond.' She said "I'm not bothered by it."

"Obviously are. Or you wouldn't be staring now, would you?' He replied. "Look princess, I don't really give a flying fuck if you care but people staring pissed me off _before _I changed." 101 bristled at the comment.

"_Fine._ Maybe it _does_ bother me, but not for the reason you think!" She snapped and then immediately wished she hadn't. The look on Desmond's face told her she had piqued his interest and she just knew he was about to ask her a question she really did not want to answer.

"Is that so?' He said "Well come on then, kid; tell ol' Desmond the reason then…" His eyes were challenging her, just daring her to answer and 101 unconsciously held her breath; she had three options and either way she was fucked. She knew if she didn't answer, Desmond would just assume she really was as bigoted as all those other Wasteland assholes. She could try to make up a different reason, but Desmond would smell a lie a mile off…

Then of course, she could always tell him exactly why it bothered her. But since that explanation consisted mainly of _your body fascinates me and I kind of want to feel you up_ she was loathe to say that either.

Instead she gave Desmond a helpless look that made a rather unnerving, knowing smile spread across his worn lips.

"Ah." He said softly and she blushed pink, looking down at her gun and polishing the barrel furiously and then realising how awful that looked, stopped and sat fuming at herself for her blunders.

She could hear Desmond laughing at her and tried unsuccessfully to tune it out. In a flurry of movement, she threw her gun back down on the table, stood up and went to exit the room to find somewhere she could drink herself amnesic or possibly bang her head against a wall until she was concussed enough to forgot everything that had just happened.

As she passed Desmond though, he reached out a veined hand and grabbed hers and 101 felt another rush of heat to her face at the contact. With a wicked smirk, he tugged her off balance so she nearly fell on top of him. Fortunately (or at least she assumed so) her time spent in the Wastes had honed her reflexes to a razors edge and she caught herself in time.

Well… Almost. Her knees were planted at the sides of Desmond's hips and her hands clutched the back of the chair just above his shoulders, barely holding her body off his. They weren't actually touching at all, but she was hyper-aware of exactly what the position would look like to the outside observer.

"What… The hell?" She breathed and Desmond raised an eyebrow.

"It was written all over your face, you know. You're… _Curious_." He said calmly, causing her to wonder how exactly his tone of voice made 'curious' sound like 'horny.'

"I'm not curious about being _molested_, Desmond!' She said "I only wanted to know what your skin feels like!" His smirk widened.

"Then do it…' He took her hand in his and guided it to his chest "Go on, touch me."

101 was couldn't help but be distracted from their awkward position at the feel of him beneath her fingertips; the patch of skin she was touching felt like the most supple leather. His skin was also hot to the touch, as if fevered. She traced over it lightly until she reached exposed muscle and looked into Desmond's eyes.

"Will… Will it hurt?" She asked softly and he shook his head. 101 allowed her fingers to graze it gently and was surprised to find it felt rock-hard to the touch; somehow she had expected it to be soft. She lightly brushed a rope of blue vein, all the while watching Desmond's face for a sign that she was hurting him. He showed none and she continued her exploration, her fingers journeying from his chest to his arms and then down to his abdomen. _Deltoid… Biceps… Pectoralis major… _It was like looking at those cut-away anatomy posters in her father's clinic…

"Satisfied your curiosity, princess?" Desmond sounded pretty pleased with himself and 101 realised that in the time she'd been examining him, she had stopped holding herself up and was practically straddling him. A nervous flush spread across her face at feeling of his body heat between her thighs.

"I… Uh, yes.' She moved to get off him "Thanks." Desmond stopped her by placing his hands on her hips. She looked at him in surprise.

"My turn" was all he said as he guided her hips back down to his. She took a sharp intake of breath at the contact but didn't move to pull away. Desmond's hands moved down her hips and her eyes widened as he leaned in and brushed his lips against the place where her neck and shoulder joined.

"Desmond…?" She whispered and his eyes flickered to hers.

"Shut up." He commanded softly and she bit her lip to hold back her protests, teeth sinking in harder when Desmond's hands brushed over her thighs. 101 wished she was wearing more than a stupid pair of shorts then and made the mistake of squirming in discomfort. Desmond hissed and pulled her hips closer and there was no denying what he was after then.

"Don't… We can't…" Her voice was a strangled whisper as Desmond continued to move beneath her, his lips still brushing against her.

"Why not?' he asked, breath warm against her neck "The way you're struggling so hard to get away tells me a lot, princess."

101 winced slightly at his sarcasm and then gasped when Desmond bit down lightly at her pulse point. She'd be lying if she said it didn't feel really good but she could not get over the idea that it was _Desmond_. Hell, Winthrop had told her most ghouls just chose to be abstinent, it just being easier to try to forget that sex existed, but Desmond struck her as someone who'd never even learnt the word intimacy.

"But why this now?' She gasped out when he slid a hand to her rear, mercilessly cupping and kneading the soft flesh. He just shrugged against her.

"Because I _want_ to.' He said, a hand at her chin turning her face to his. "And because you will _let _me. There are no fancy answers here, sweetheart; I want to take your clothes off and I want to fuck you." He looked as if he was going to move in to kiss her but 101 turned her face away, her mouth downturned unhappily at his words.

"So because I'm… Convenient?" She asked bitterly. Desmond scoffed.

"Hardly, since you seem to be doing everything in your goddamn power to prevent me getting your pants off.' He said and then smiled, not unkindly "No, when I say I want to fuck you, I mean _just_ you. I don't mean I want to bed the first vapid whore who is jetting too hard to care that I'm a ghoul.' 101 looked back into Desmond's eyes and could have sworn she saw the smallest hint of warmth in them.

"You've proved you're more than just a pretty face kid, you've got a brain inside that skull. I like that… Well, that is to say what's left of it." He brushed a hand against her scar gently and 101 glared at him.

"You always do have to remind me of that" she said but there was no anger in her voice. And when Desmond leaned in to kiss her that time she met him halfway;

If Desmond's skin was hot, his mouth was positively searing. 101 recalled a theory of Doctor Barrows' about ghouls increased temperature resulting from the body's constant need to heal itself, which may have resulted in their increased longevity but all theories and thoughts of other people disappeared from her mind when Desmond's tongue swept hotly into her mouth.

_Oh my god…_

101 figured if forgetting how to breathe was this good, it surely must be worth dying. The second Desmond's tongue tangled with hers she threw caution to the wind and kissed back just as forcefully.

They eventually parted for want of air, but soon enough Desmond was brushing her hair back and planting a kiss at her neck just behind her ear then moving to scrape his teeth against the lobe tantalizingly slowly. 101 gasped, the sensation appearing to run right to her core making her press her hips harder to Desmond's.

"The part…' She gasped like a drowning woman "about taking my clothes off, Mr. Lockheart?" He grinned lasciviously.

"I'm getting to it."

And then Desmond had swiftly gathered her in his arms and all of a sudden their positions were switched with her back now against the chair and Desmond above her. She'd barely even had time to blink and now his fingers were trailing fire up her body, grasping her tank top and slipping it up over head.

Then they were no more than a tangle of limbs and a flurry of discarded clothing. 101 felt filled with strange, aching sensations and a desire so intense she vaguely wondered if it would burn her alive. She could never have imagined a man could send her spiralling up through ecstasy the way Desmond was making her, the way his mouth moved against her neck and the way his hips moved with hers in such perfect timing reduced her to a moaning, quivering heap of a woman; for once she had no identity, she was nothing but blessed carnal sensation rising up like a rush of hot, bubbling water and spilling over the edges of reality into something _more…_

The quiet of the Wastes was broken by her unadulterated cry of release as her back arched and her nails dug into Desmond's shoulders. He held her to him as she went limp, her body still awash with waves of euphoria, her vision hazy and her heart beating so fast it seemed to vibrate against his chest.

"Now…' Desmond said a little breathlessly "Aren't you glad I indulged your curiosity?" and 101 would have answered had she been at all capable of coherent speech. She settled for turning her head slightly so that her lips met his as she felt the pull of peaceful oblivion at her spent body. She was quite happy to let it take her…

Desmond grinned down at his vault girl as sleep took her and he laid her gently down in the chair, fetching an old blanket to drape around her.

He wasn't certain that he _loved_ the girl or anything but he knew he wanted her around. Even that was kind of hard to admit. Desmond definitely knew he wanted to do more of that with her and he was pretty sure she wouldn't be against it either. And it was nice, after all… Nice to have somebody who wanted you close like that, who obviously didn't give a bloody damn what you were. He'd spent an awful lot of time on his own (two hundred years, to be exact) and now he was thinking that having company was far from a bad thing. Even if he couldn't put a name on his feelings for her, Desmond had to say that in the end he was grateful for them.

"_Desmond…_" The girl muttered in her sleep and the ghoul grinned wider.

"Sweet dreams, kid."

* * *

**Was it a mistake to listen to a band called Orgy while writing this? You be the judge.**


	7. Interesting

**A/N: In which the vault girl isn't so wimpy and Desmond is just that resourceful. **

When this Desmond character "offered" me a dangerous, cult-infiltration based job, I politely declined. I had to search for Nadine as it was and even though I'd worked for less pleasant people in the past, Desmond's colourful way with curses and irritable disposition had already informed me that working for him would be downright awful.

"No thanks." I said and was about to turn around and leave when Desmond's ruined lips quirked in a particularly nasty smile.

"Sorry, but that's not really an option. I was only being polite in pretending that it was.'

I just _stared _at him and he continued;

"Tell you what; take a while and roll it around in your tiny brain. Consider your other options…' He said and smirked at my stunned expression before adding "_if_ you think you've got any."

"Excuse me?' I hoped I didn't sound as scandalized as I felt "I don't have to listen to this; I came here to find somebody and that sure as hell isn't you, _Desmond_. In fact, I saved your ass before and you pretty much threw it back in my face. I'm leaving now." I gave him one last scathing look before turning my back on him.

… Which rapidly turned out to be a mistake when he kicked me in the back of the legs and sent me sprawling onto my knees. Before I could even begin to recover, he had my arms pinned against my sides and had something around my neck. I heard a 'click' and figured it out immediately…

That _son of a __**bitch**_ had just stuck a slave collar on me.

"… Bastard." I whispered and he laughed softly and darkly in my ear.

"I'm truly _sorry_' he purred, sounding not even close to apologetic "But you left me no fuckin' choice, sweetheart. I meant what I said about it not being an option." I struggled in his grip but could only turn my head enough to look at him.

"I've disarmed these things before… And when I get it off, I'm going to kill you." I said but Desmond's face told me things weren't going to go that way.

"Underestimating me got you into this mess, kid; you'd think you'd have learnt…' He grabbed the collar and pulled my head close to his "This collar is my own invention. Any tampering whatsoever will set it off. There are only two ways to remove it, one; it explodes and blows off your pretty head…' I shivered as he ran a hand down my cheek "Or two; you do as I say until you are no longer needed, I disarm it and you go on your merry fuckin' way. Which sounds better to you?"

"The latter..." I growled unwillingly. And he fucking patted me on the head.

"Good girl." He said, pulling me roughly to my feet. I almost bit him but wasn't about to give him another excuse to treat me like a dog… Or blow my head off.

"How can I be sure that when you're finished with me you won't just sell me to the smugglers?' I grumbled "forgive me, but I'm not exactly certain I can just take your word for it." Desmond scoffed.

"Of course you can't take my word for it; I'm a stone-cold bastard.' He actually sounded proud "But to put it in terms you can understand… Do you actually see another fuckin' option, kid?"

The expletive I uttered in reply got mauled by my clenched teeth and Desmond grinned.

"I didn't think so. Get going." His voice was smug and also quite alarmingly cheerful. I quickly diagnosed the man as suffering from Sadistic Personality Disorder and turned on my heel before I could decide "fuck it" and murder him with my bare hands, decapitation be damned.

"And…' he called, forcing me to pause.

"_What?_" I barked, looking back at him over my shoulder to see a gleam brightening his faded blue eyes.

"Try not to get killed" he finished, though with a tone like that he could well have been saying "when you die, I'm really not going to give two shits."

"Yeah, _thanks_" I muttered sarcastically and turned once more to leave before his next words made me grind to a halt.

"I mean it, kid.' He said in a voice no less hard but completely serious. "You should be able to do this. I'm going to be several shades of extremely pissed off should you fail. I'm trusting you to get it done."

_I'm trusting you…_

An unwelcome feeling jabbed into me at those three words; opening the still raw wound of my father's passing. The last man to say those words to me.

_I'm trust you with this, sweetie…_

"… I'll try." My voice was soft and I knew I wasn't really saying it to Desmond.

"Good. Hurry up." The man's sharp voice broke me out of my reverie and I remembered I was supposed to hate him. I spared him a final scathing glare and "fuck off" which only served to make him smirk at me, then I was out the door.

The unchanging grey sky seemed to loom above as I breathed in the salty air, thinking of how it was almost kind of a shame I would have to murder the sweet everloving hell out of Desmond the moment I got the chance to. A bastard he may be, but sadly the world is often a more interesting place with bastards like Desmond in it. I started walking, with what I imagined to be a determined if not slightly demented grin on my face

"Just you wait, you son of a bitch… Just you wait."

**This story is shit and means fuck all, but stabbing out a Desmond fic is always good fun. I liked the idea of the slave collar twist because once, to prove Desmond wrong, I buggered right back to the big CW after he was all like "you have no choice! You must help me!" a month later and with my pockets 330 caps lighter, I was able to say "HA!" to him. Because seriously, what **_**was**_** he going to do?**


End file.
